


Where to Start Anew

by AgentCoop



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Political Animals
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drugs, First Kiss, Hospitals, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, References to Drugs, Steve Rogers Feels, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 18:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21061379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop
Summary: It's spring of 2014 when Captain America is found in the ice.Just a couple of months later, TJ Hammond tries to kill himself again.It's miraculous that their paths cross at all, but once it happens, TJ finds himself hoping for just another chance, just another conversation, just another moment with Steve Rogers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PerfectlyImperfect42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectlyImperfect42/gifts).

> Written for [Spacecase42](https://spacecase42.tumblr.com/) for the MTH 2018 Auction! 
> 
> Thank you so much for bidding on me, and I hope you enjoy <3

He opens his eyes.

This is the first real problem. Waking. Opening his eyes, seeing the white of what looks like yet another hospital room, and the sudden rush of comprehension that he’s still breathing.

TJ groans, then closes his eyes again, pushing his head back against the pillow with as much strength as he can muster.

He’s alive.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his breath still a hoarse whisper.

“Oh!” The voice cuts off, and there’s a small rustling sound.

This is the second real problem.

Apparently, someone else is in the room with him.

He very much regrets the fact that he’d said anything at all, because now it was going to be absolutely impossible to pretend he was anything but cognizant.

“I’m so sorry, I thought you’d be sleeping,” the voice says.

TJ opens his eyes again, focusing on the man standing in the far corner. He’s fairly unobtrusive, in a white t-shirt and baggy grey sweatpants. But there’s something familiar about his face, something that’s pressing uncomfortably at TJ’s memory. 

“What the fuck,” he manages, grimacing at the intensity of the headache that has suddenly set on him. “Why…” he presses his lips together, pushing himself up the bed so that he can manage to get into some semblance of sitting position. There is an IV in the crook of his elbow, and, he notices with extreme distaste, bandages around both wrists--thick, and stained with lines of blood. 

And as he sits back against the fluffy pillows of the hospital bed, his brain finally shoves a few pieces together.. “Why is the newly de-iced Captain America in my hospital room?” Talking hurts. Moving hurts. Everything hurts, and he’s pissed off.

The Captain laughs, but it’s a nervous thing, tight and wary. “Uh...you aren’t in a normal hospital. You’re in Avengers Tower. And I–”

“Why is the newly de-iced Captain America in my ‘Avengers Tower’ room,” TJ says, trying to keep the snarl from his voice.

“Well, you see...oh! You can call me Steve.” 

He pauses as though TJ is supposed to acknowledge that, but TJ is tired, and exhausted, and already completely done with this conversation.

So Steve laughs uncomfortably, then stands up, making his way towards the bed. “I’m really sorry. They told me it was okay to come in and watch you. You ended up here last night after...well…”

“Yeah.” TJ says, his hands curling into uncomfortable fists. 

“Well, it’s quiet in here. Out there…” Steve shrugs, looking sheepish. “It’s a lot right now. So I figured I’d come in and keep you company. ” 

His blond hair falls into his eyes for a moment, and TJ watches him raise a hand and brush it away.

He knows Steve better than he probably should. He’s been on the news for the past five months near constantly after having been found in the ice and resuscitated. He’s a modern day medical miracle, and the government was pretty damn quick to get their hooks back into him as soon as possible.

There’s a moment where TJ almost feels sorry for the guy. Steve’s pathetic enough that he’s taken to hiding in the room of a suicidal maniac to get away from having to talk to anyone else who might be around the tower. And now TJ’s forcing him to talk anyway.

Then Steve smiles, and grips the side of the bed with both hands. “I’m glad you’re breathing.”

And TJ goes right back to hating him. A monitor starts to beep, a dull drone that echoes in the silence of the room.

“I should probably call a nurse,” Steve says as the pump continues to beep. “Now that you’re awake and all?”

“Whatever,” TJ mumbles. 

But Steve doesn’t do anything. He just stands there awkwardly, his blue eyes gleaming. “I have no idea what button to push,” he finally admits.

That suits TJ just fine. He has no desire to hurry the nurses and doctors who will just scrutinize, and poke, and prod, and talk over him as though he’s nothing at all.

He wishes he were nothing at all. 

“Why am I in Avengers Tower?” he asks, trying to push back that agonizing bleakness, trying not to let the horrible blackness consume him again.

“Well, that…” Steve crosses his arms in front of his chest, and looks to the door. “I’m assuming the doctor will talk to you–”

“Naa, you’ll do.” His voice sounds weak in his ears. Completely pathetic. His head pounds, his arm’s been aching ever since he noticed the bandaging, , and really all he wants to do is get fucking high as possible and forget all of this is happening.

“Well...I think your parents didn’t want word getting out. They helped Tony out of a tough spot about a year back and so they called in the favor.” 

He offers a small smile, but there’s so much pity in it, TJ just wants to throw something. Instead, he focuses on breathing, that bullshit technique his therapist gave him last year: _breathe in through your nose ten counts, then out through your mouth ten counts, then in again ten counts…_

It never works.

The anger is flaming hot inside of him again, threatening to burst free, and he’s suddenly so full of sadness he wants to scream. “Great. Didn’t want the fuck-up getting any more press attention. Got it.”

“No, I don’t really think that was it. I’m sure they want you to have time to yourself to heal. To not worry about press in your face all the time–”

“Jesus Christ, clearly in your tour of the 21st century, you didn’t meet my parents. Just shut the fuck up and go save America or something.” He’s had it. He’s done, the stitches up and down his wrists are pulling so hard that he’s nauseous from pain, he doesn’t want to be here, he wants to be dead….

He should be dead.

But he’s still breathing.

He’s counting these breaths now, and makes it a good three minutes or so, but Steve still hasn’t left the room. So TJ groans, and rolls his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Just...can you just go? I don’t really want to talk to anyone right now.”

Steve nods. “I’m really sorry. I really didn’t think you’d wake up while I was here and I just...I just needed…” he pauses, drops his hands and lets them hang awkwardly at his side. “You just reminded me of someone. Sorry.”

He’s still not moving though. He’s still standing there, staring like he’s confused, or possessed, or incapable of anything at all. 

TJ swallows, then tries. “There isn’t any morphine over there, is there? In the drawer?”

“I’m not giving you drugs.”

“Oh, so _now_ we have a boundary we won’t cross. Makes perfect sense.”

Steve laughs, finally breaking free of the trance, but then shakes his head. “Sorry. I think they’re all locked, anyway.” He begins to walk toward the door, but stops just shy of the handle. “Hey. I know things are rough. Just...if you ever need to talk? I’m around. I think they’re keeping you here for a while.”

“Great,” TJ mutters. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that they’re not giving him any of the good painkillers. He’s sure he had enough drugs and liquor in his system when they wheeled him in that they’re going to want to keep him for a nice little 40 day detox stay, just like they did the last time.

The last time.

_Fuck._

Steve isn’t leaving; he’s just back to staring, and TJ realizes with horror that his eyes are welling up. “Cool,” he pushes out, but his voice breaks on the single syllable.

There’s that pity again. Even worse now.

He can’t even throw up an arm to cover his face because he’s strapped down to the bed.

“Why are you still here?” he asks, turning his head so Steve doesn’t watch him cry.

“You just...remind me of someone,” Steve says again. “Sorry. That’s probably weird. Just...really. If you want to talk…” he drifts off.

_Leave, leave, leave,_ TJ thinks.

“Go easy on yourself,” Steve finally says. “Do you like cribbage?”

This is so insanely ridiculous, and so unreasonably bizarre that TJ turns his head back just to see if Steve is kidding. 

He’s not. There’s definite sincerity in his eyes, and the way his hair is mussed, and the way his blue eyes flicker with trouble, he looks all the world like a kid.

“Uh…”

“Everyone likes cribbage!,” Steve says with a smile. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Then he’s gone, out the door before TJ can muster up any sort of answer.

But there’s a flicker of something within his chest at that word _tomorrow_.

Hope.


	2. Chapter 2

One month and nine days later, TJ is released, and it turns out that Steve was right about keeping him secret at the Tower.

There are no questions this time, no cameras in his face, no special news reports on the hour featuring the ‘first son’ and his current mental state.

He’s ushered out of Avengers tower exactly one month and nine days after his failed suicide attempt, and no one is the wiser.

He’s sitting in the back of the shiny, black town car watching the city pass him by. It won’t be long before he’s ushered back into the White House, thrown back into politics, deceit, and lies. 

It’s alright, though. He’s good at forcing his mouth into a smile.

The bandages are gone from his wrists, and all that’s left are white lines of scar tissue, crinkly, but soft against his fingertips. It’s still winter, and so he wears long sleeves without any problem. 

No one knows they are there, but him.

And maybe Steve.

Captain America had been true to his word on the visiting thing as well. He came by every few nights, an old wooden cribbage board tucked under his arm and a deck of cards in his hands. They were branded with The Avengers. Steve’s face was lucky enough to grace the King. Of course, Tony was on the Ace.

TJ had cocked an eye at him over it, and Steve just burst out laughing, saying that he thought they were hilarious, and wouldn’t his mother just love to see him now–famous enough for all of America to hold his face in the palm of their hand.

There’s a honking of horns, and TJ lifts his head from where it’s been resting on the window. 

“We’re here, Mr. Hammond,” the driver calls back.

Mr. Hammond.

Ugh.

TJ smacks the back of the console though. “Thanks, man.” Then he lets himself out, taking only one step before he’s surrounded by staff members.

“Right this way,” someone says, and another person has pressed a solid palm to his back, guiding him through the crowds. 

Once inside, he looks from right to left, trying to see if his mother happens to be around. She hadn’t come to visit him once while he was at the Tower, but he supposes he can’t blame her for that. The entire purpose of him being there was for secrecy, and if the President of the United States shows up, that front is all but destroyed.

She’s not here either. Instead, he’s guided to the elevators, then back down the hall, to a very familiar apartment.

His apartment.

“Is there anything else you need?” The attendant asks. 

TJ just shakes his head, trying to quiet his nerves, trying to think through being thrown back under the public eye. He’d expected to be thrust in front of cameras again. He’d expected to be prodded, and questioned, and forced into giving up some fictitious tale of where he’d been for the last month.

Instead, the door closes, and TJ is left very much alone.

The room hasn’t changed. 

It’s cleaner now. He remembers vividly the night it happened–the bottles of liquor he’d gone through, the small piles of cocaine that he’d snorted off his bedside table. That’s all been cleaned, not even a whisper of his iniquity.

There are other things he’s more curious about, though.

TJ pushes open the door to the bathroom and steps inside, sneakers squeaking against the bright white tile.

Everything still smells of bleach.

His eyes dart to the corner, to the place he remembers falling. He’d curled up there, wrists held out, dripping blood on the white tiles, staining everything in vivid red. 

TJ moves over there, crouching down, and draws the pads of his fingers down the grout line.

It’s a funny thing, really. There’s nothing there at all. Not even the smallest smudge of red. It’s all sparkling, it’s all beautiful. There is no memory of blood here, and TJ realizes that had he died, his memory would have been swallowed up just the same.

Bleached, and scrubbed, and left pristine.

He sighs, then rises again, walking into the small living room and toeing out of his shoes. Then he grabs the remote, and throws himself back on the couch.

His mother’s face fills the news channel on the screen, . pinched, and serious, and nose wrinkling as though she’s smelled something horrid.

He flicks to the next channel.

Steve’s there.

His bright blue eyes, his golden blond hair, his too-perfect, All-American smile. He’s talking about some new initiative to save the rainforests, “It’s Time to be a Hero”, and none of it matters to TJ at all. He hears this shit constantly, hears the politicians mouth off about everything from saving the whales, to saving the earth, to saving the fucking universe.

Steve is smiling so bright, and his teeth are so white, and TJ can’t help but wonder what he’s really feeling. What lies beneath that mask?

Because it _is_ a mask. In the quiet of the hospital room, there had been a sadness to him, that TJ had never quite broken through. He was quietly terrified, and groping for anything at all to ground him in the new century. 

He is a puppet of the military now, and he dances on his strings beautifully. But there’s a man somewhere in there who has lost everything and is starting anew.

There’s a man like TJ.

Granted, Steve gave up his life for a fairly meaningful cause. The world went on because of him. 

But TJ has been there. He’s well familiar with that welling of darkness, sees it reflected on Steve’s face. Steve may have the facade of heroism to hide behind, but TJ knows that he crashed that plane with purpose.

That when Steve woke up from the ice? He probably ran the same gamut of emotions that TJ did with every failed attempt.

_Why did I live?_

Something within him changes. Something comes a little loose, and he finds himself paying perfect attention to the way Steve’s lips close around each syllable. The way he opens them for vowels, his tongue licking his lower lip ever so slowly.

The way his voice sounds.

There’s a familiar tightening in his gut, and TJ can’t help himself. He reaches a hand down, and lets his fingers brush along the waistband of his jeans, touching the tender skin there and shivering.

Steve’s still talking, but TJ no longer listens to the words. Instead, he closes his eyes and imagines every breath of Steve’s. Imagines that they whisper against his earlobe. Imagines that Steve is next to him, that it’s Steve’s hand, that Steve’s fingertips are pushing underneath the fabric, are brushing against the wiry hairs of his groin, are grazing the soft skin of his cock…

TJ sighs out, quickly unbuttons his jeans, then wraps a hand around his cock, stroking it to hardness. 

He doesn’t turn off the TV.

He watches Steve. He watches the way Steve’s smile quirks up when the newscaster looks at him, he watches the way Steve blinks, long eyelashes sweeping down, then up again.

Steve’s voice is so smooth and confident, and TJ remembers exactly how he cadences his sentences, exactly how he sounds when he’s happy.

“Steve,” he whispers, the name on his lips hissing out. His thumb brushes across the tip of his cock and it comes away wet. “Steve.”

His hand sounds wet against his erection, he can feel the stickiness of precum on his palm. 

Steve is thanking the newscaster, and then he looks right at the television, smiling turning brighter. “You can help too!” he says. “It would mean everything to me!” 

He closes his eyes and imagines Steve’s hand on his, Steve murmuring in his ear, “_yes, yes, just like that. Just like that…_”

It hits TJ right in the stomach, tightening so fast he gasps. Then he’s coming, he’s spurting across the couch, all over his jeans, all over his hand. He’s breathing hard, gulping in air for a few seconds before everything relaxes, and that familiar sense of muzziness takes over.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, wiping his hand against the denim of his jeans. 

It’s been a long time. That's what he repeats mentally, as he tucks himself back in, as he stands and moves to the bathroom to clean up. It’s just been a while.

But deep within himself, there’s a small voice chanting.

_Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers._


	3. Chapter 3

TJ’s just put on his leather jacket and is about to leave the house for a new club opening when his cell rings.

“Hey,” he answers, walking out the front door and making sure it locks behind him.

“Hi!”

He knows this voice;He’s imagined this voice near nightly for a month straight. 

He’s pissed that this voice is just now calling him, after spending weeks on end together every day like clockwork. 

“Yup,” he says, walking faster now, as though he has a purpose.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I should have called sooner.” 

Steve actually does sound sorry, and this makes TJ even more infuriated. “It’s fine,” he bites out. After all, he doesn’t really have any reason to be angry. Steve kept him company while he was healing. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“No, I really am sorry,” Steve replies. “There was a mission, and we were out of the country for a while, and everything went to shit, and–”

“Didn’t realize Captain America was allowed to swear,” TJ mocks. He’s made it down the stairs and out the back of the building, but he has no desire to start walking yet. He’s still angry, but it’s mostly internalized now. It’s mostly directed at himself.

Of course Steve’s been on a mission, he’s a fucking Avenger. 

“Eh. Steve Rogers first. Captain America second.” He laughs awkwardly. “I really am sorry. How have you been?”

_I’ve been jacking off to you every night since I left the building_ didn’t seem like an appropriate response. “Hold on,” TJ says. He pulls his pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket and taps one out. Then he lights it with a quick and precise hand, bringing it to his mouth and drawing in a breathful of beautifully noxious carcinogens. “Sorry,” he says. “I’ve been fine. I’m actually on my way out right now, though.”

“Oh! Yeah, sure, of course. I just wanted to ask you...well...Tony holds this giant charity something or other? Every year I guess?”

“Yeah. The Maria Stark Foundation Charity Ball?”

“Oh. You know it?”

TJ leans up against the wall of the apartment building, and very much fights the urge to roll his eyes. “My parents? You know?”

“Right. Right! Shit, sorry, I imagine you’re already going.”

“Well, yeah.” The wind gusts, and TJ pulls his coat closer, realizing that the silence between them is growing awkward and unsure. “Steve?”

“Yeah. Here. I guess...I was just wondering if you wanted to go with me?”

There’s a moment in movies, where character A looks at character B a certain way, and the music starts to swell, and the breeze starts to pick up their hair, and everyone in the theater knows that they are about to kiss.

That doesn’t happen. For one thing, they’re on the phone. For another, Steve’s probably a hundred miles away, debriefing after the stupid fucking mission. But there’s a nice swell of warmth in TJ’s stomach, and that flutterly, nervous anticipation of what _might_ happen if he says yes. 

“You mean, as your date?”

The silence grows, and with it, TJ’s urge to suddenly and forcefully lose his dinner.

“Sure. Yeah, I guess something like that.”

Which isn’t particularly the full and complete affirmation that TJ is going for. “You guess,” he repeats. “Something like that…”

The line rustles for a second, as though Steve’s moving around, or putting his hand over the microphone. Finally it’s clear again, and Steve’s voice chimes through. “Would you like to go to Tony’s gala with me. As my date?”

TJ can’t help the grin that starts to spread. He’s tingly, and he’s warm, and he’s nervous, and he’s very, _very_ alive.

“Yes.”

***

The actual evening is crowded, swarming with rich people, and contains everything that TJ usually hates.

But Steve is here this time, and for some reason? That feels right.

They walk in together, press cameras flashing in their faces, and for once, TJ isn’t the biggest story on the runway. 

Everyone is obsessed with Steve. He’s been ‘unfrozen,’ as they call it, for 8 months now, and they all want to know how he’s integrating with society, how he’s transitioning into the modern world, what the hardest thing is about the change?

TJ has to give Steve credit. He answers every question with a smile on his face, but his hold on TJ’s hand tightens incrementally each time. 

The questions finally start coming in for TJ. Asking how they met, asking how long they’ve known each other, asking if TJ minds dating an Avenger.

And there it is.

The ‘dating’ word.

He’s not sure that’s what this is, he’s not sure _what_ this is, but he does know is that Steve’s smile grows at the question, and that the tension in his hand, very noticeably, loosens. 

“Oh, well. We met in New York” Steve says, with no further detail at all. Then he wraps an arm around TJ’s shoulder. “We met, we hit it off, and we’re here!”

And amazingly? They let him go at that.

TJ rides that high for a long while, through the front doors of the swanky convention center, up the elevators as people below mill about in their fancy dresses and clean cut suits, all the way to the cocktail area, where serving men and women navigate the throngs of the rich and famous holding platters filled with champagne.

And then he starts to lose his nerve. Everyone is watching Steve, and Steve is somehow able to smile at every single one of them. He’s somehow able to converse with anyone who comes near him in a way that’s almost magical, that leaves them feeling in awe and special, and that doesn’t seem to take any energy from Steve at all.

TJ’s never been able to do that. Steve is a beacon of light and hope and beauty, and TJ…

Is nothing.

And this is where TJ starts to feel inconsequential.

There are too many people. His entire body thrums with anxiety as they swarm around him. They want to talk, and a thousand and one potential replies blur together in his brain and not a single one seems appropriate. He’s going to mispeak, someone’s going to call him out, they’re all going to make him relive every mistake of his past,

He can’t exist in this space.

And there’s only one way he knows to counter it.

“Excuse me a minute,” he says. 

Steve is deep in conversation about pipelines.How Steve has even had time to learn about pipelines in the 8 months he’s been here, TJ has no fucking clue. 

But it doesn’t matter. Steve looks over at him and mouths “you okay?” and TJ just nods. There isn’t much Steve can do. He’s being pressed on all sides by people who want to talk to him, and TJ knows very well how hard it is to escape.

“Yeah,” he says, then ducks out towards the servant entrance.

He doesn’t have any drugs on him, but he knows where to score the good stuff, and it doesn't take him long, back in the kitchens, to hand over a wad of cash and come away with a small bag of fine, white powder.

Self-loathing wells in his stomach. 

He’s over a month clean; he hasn’t even had a fucking beer in the time he’s been home. And the first second he’s out in the public eye? He fails spectacularly.

How else can he fight the voices in his head? He’s exhausted, and he’s buzzing with anxiety, and he’s not good enough for Steve. He’ll never be good enough for Steve. So he weaves his way back to the restrooms, smiling his winning ‘TJ Hammond, public figure smile’ as he passes other guests, and locks himself in the handicapped stall, pushing the drugs into nice, even lines, then inhaling.

The best part about coke is how fast it hits you.

The anxiety is gone within seconds. The relief is immediate.

So he takes another hit, then packs the rest of it up nice and neat, tucking it in the front breast pocket of his thousand dollar Armani suit.

He doesn’t want to be like this.

He just _is_.

Steve is deep in conversation with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts when TJ returns, and though he very much doesn’t want to be anywhere near the man who offered his family charity in TJ’s time of need, he does want to be near Steve.

He wants to hook his arm around Steve’s. 

He wants to press his palm against Steve’s palm, and thread his fingers through Steve’s fingers, and stand close enough that he can hear the way Steve swallow. God, the way Steve’s throat _moves_...

Fuck, he’s high.

“TJ!” Steve exclaims, turning to him with that gorgeous smile, eyes bright and excited. 

“Hey,” TJ manages. His tongue is thick in his mouth, and his lips are numb with the drugs. 

Steve is watching him, eyes narrowing, but Tony swoops in and saves the day.

“TJ Hammond. Good to see you in...well, recovery is it?”

TJ is certain that Tony doesn’t completely intend that snide sort of voice, but he can’t help but prickle at the implications. “Recovery of sorts,” TJ says, grinning widely. “Couple of stints in rehab, starts to feel a bit old hat. You’d know, right?”

Tony frowns, and Pepper pulls at his arm.

“C’mon man. You’re Ironman. You’re like...the fucking icon of rehab. Shit, we probably have tons in common. Lets have a drink, or six, or _none_, because you fucking can’t.”

“TJ,” Steve says, clasping his hand tightly. “Hey, we should–”

“Nice kid you have there, Steve,” Tony says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll make sure to ignore my phone the next time his parents call in a favor.”

“Good by me,” TJ snarls. “I never asked to be locked up in your shitty tower.”

“Jesus!” Steve exclaims, snagging TJ’s arm and pulling him far away. “Calm down,” he says under his breath as they walk. Eventually, they end up in a hallway that no one else seems to be using, and Steve rounds on him. “What are you doing? What was that?”

“He’s an asshole.”

“Well...maybe, but he did kind of give you the medical attention you needed for over a month and not rat you out to the press.”

“I didn’t ask him for that.”

TJ’s well aware he sounds like a jerk, but his exhilaration buzzes around him, his feet want to move, his hands are reaching for Steve. He wants Steve’s mouth pressed against his, Steve’s hands pushing him up against the wall...

“TJ, what’s going on?” 

Steve’s eyes aren’t sparkling anymore; they are entirely too still, deep pools of ocean blue.

He’s not moving, so TJ does. He turns and shoves Steve up against the wall, pressing their bodies together, nosing at Steve’s neck. “I wanna blow you,” he says, his hands rucking up the fabric of Steve’s dress shirt, questing down for more, wanting more, wanting more– 

“Hey!”

It’s so loud, TJ pauses instantaneously, his eyes trying to focus. Steve pushes against him, and TJ lets him. He takes a step back, then another, watching as Steve quickly and methodically tucks his shirt back in and straightens. 

“Hey, what was that? What’s going on? You’re…”

His voice drifts off and those eyes change again. Still deeply blue, but now filled with something TJ saw the first time they met.

Pity.

There’s something awful moving in his stomach, and he hates Steve for this, but he hates himself more. He did this. He made this choice.

“Hey, I think it would be best if you headed home,” Steve says.

“Not your decision, man,” TJ responds, carding a hand through his hair. “I’m supposed to be here too. I know you’re the bigger star, but I’ve got an invite just like you do–”

“TJ.”

TJ swallows, and tries to maintain eye contact, but he knows he’s fucked up. It’s been less than an hour out of his apartment and he’s already destroyed any chance he might have had.

“I really think you should go home.”

It takes everything he has not to retort. Not to fight back. Not to punch Steve in the face, then go inhale the rest of his drugs before heading to a club.

Instead, he nods. He turns from Steve, and walks down the hall. He visits the bathroom again on the way out, and flushes the small bag of cocaine. 

Once home, he digs through the cupboard, finding the pack of razorblades buried in a shoebox near the back. He takes one out, he runs it gently along every one of the white lines on his wrists.

It doesn’t cut, it just presses against the skin for a moment.

Then he carefully puts it back, turns on the shower, steps inside, and starts to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

There’s a crazy attack on New York City a few months later, and TJ can barely believe the footage he watches on the screen.

Apparently there are aliens now, which is just great.

Apparently those aliens want to take over the Earth.

Apparently there are other aliens who were sent here to fight alongside the humans, and they are Steve’s friends now?

Real life was now more fucked up than TJ’s craziest of drug induced hallucinations.

The White House is full-on insanity. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near the chaos that’s going on as politicians wage war on each other to decide what to do about the potential annihilation of the planet.

Instead, TJ holes up in his apartment and just watches everything unfold on the TV screen. Steve fighting aliens. Goo and chittery legged things being thrown left and right. Steve yelling commands at even Tony, and the Avengers making an absolute mess of the city.

And he realizes that the entire time he’s watching, his stomach is turning in knots. 

Steve could die.

It’s not as though they have much history. Steve was nice to him for a bit while he recovered. He jerked off to the guy for more than a few nights in a row. They went on one date, which failed specatcularly when TJ decided to be a giant fucking douchebag.

Now TJ is watching Steve fight for America, decked out in his star-spangled suit, and throwing that damn shield left and right as though it’s nothing more than a child’s ball.

And TJ is terrified.

Even after the battle ends, even after all the news anchors start talking about recovery and death toll, and how the Avengers had overreached in their positions and should be punished accordingly, TJ is still pacing his apartment.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

He tosses and turns and thinks about what it might be like to decapitate an alien and keep on going as though there were nothing unusual at all.

Then he thinks about what it might be like to decide to die, and instead, wake up sixty odd years later, in a completely new world where, instead of your death, you see that everyone you once knew has passed on.

There’s a sadness there that’s so complete, so earnest, so desperate to be heard, and TJ finds himself staring up at the ceiling, wishing he’d been a better man for the few moments that he’d had with Steve.

It’s the next morning that his cell begins to ring.

It’s an unknown number, and TJ hesitates for a moment before picking up.

“Hello?” he finally answers, pushing a hand into his pocket.

“TJ?”

His heart is racing, his palms are starting to sweat, and he has to bite back the smile of relief that wants to burst across his face. “Yeah,” he says. “Steve?”

“Can I come over?”

He forces himself to breathe a moment, to not sound too desperate. “Yeah, yeah of course. You back in the city?”

“I’m actually on your street. I don’t...I don’t think anyone saw me. Can I come up? Can you...what’s that word...ring me in?”

TJ is already on the way to the little buzzer that’s mounted by the front door. “Buzz,” he corrects, then holds it down for a long moment.

“Right,” Steve answers. “Buzz. See you soon!”

The phone clicks off, and TJ is waiting, nerves tingling with anticipation. Finally, there’s a knock on the front door, and TJ opens it wide.

Steve’s standing there, a baseball cap and sunglasses, and he looks exactly like Steve Rogers, and nothing like an anonymous person, and TJ almost laughs at how earnest it all is. “That’s a disguise?” he asks, shutting the door as Steve walks in.

“Oh, uh. Yeah? I mean...I’m not in a spandex suit so...most people don’t look twice.”

TJ highly doubts that. Even with the shades and the cap, he’s still over six feet tall, and moves with a magical sort of grace. Even so, there weren’t any flashes of cameras in the hall, or press jamming microphones in either of their faces, so he supposes Steve might be onto something.

“I saw you on TV,” TJ says. He motions for the couch, and Steve sits down, drawing a knee up to his chest, and looking much smaller and more frail than a man of his size ever should.

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.” TJ considers sitting down too, but he doesn’t want to disturb anything. So he stands awkwardly, hands pushed into his pockets, leaning from one foot to the next.

“You going to sit?”

_Thank god._ He does, pushing himself into the corner of the couch and lounging easily against the back of the white leather. “So...you okay?” TJ asks.

Steve sighs, dropping his head for a moment, and a lock of blond hair falls forward, covering his eyes. “It’s just…” he starts, then he looks up again, catching TJ’s glance. “I had a friend once. I lost him. And I did everything in my power to make that okay. I sacrificed everything.”

His hands wrap around his knee, and TJ has an overwhelming urge to move closer, to brush against Steve’s arm, to lean his head into the curve of Steve’s neck and be able to hear the way his heart beats in his chest. 

But he doesn’t. He just nods.

“Well, I learned today that none of it mattered. That he died for nothing, that I died for nothing, that I could have just as easily let it all go to hell back then. And I know I have a purpose here, I get that. I really do. But I just…” He shrugs. “I thought about you.”

TJ’s eyes narrow in confusion.

“I mean on the battlefield,” Steve smiles. “I was thinking about you. I was thinking that I might die, and I wouldn’t see you again, and that would be– 

“You were covered in green alien goo, and you were thinking about me?” TJ teases, but inside there is warmth, there is hope, there is a glimmer of something magical.

Steve lets out a little laugh. “I was thinking that I’d like to give this another chance.”

The sun is starting to set just outside the window, and though it’s partially obscured by clouds, it casts a few rays inside the apartment, and lights the floorboards with delicious, golden hues. They seem to flicker as the blinds move back and forth from the push of the air conditioning. TJ watches as the color begins to elongate, creeping forward as the cloud cover lifts even further. 

“TJ?”

TJ looks back at Steve, back into those blue eyes that no longer held any sign of pity, but instead are brimming with something more desperate.

Desire.

“I’d like that too,” TJ whispers.

And Steve rises up on one leg, crawling across the couch to where TJ sits, and very carefully, very purposely, presses their lips together.

The kiss itself is full of want, and need, and urgency. It’s sweet, and Steve moves against TJ in a way that makes their bodies fit perfectly together, but it’s not everything.

In the bathroom of TJ’s apartment, there still lies a shoebox full of razor blades, that he’s been unwilling to part with.

Somewhere, in Steve’s room at the tower, there lies a photograph of a man in an army uniform, that Steve is unable to forget.

There are rules TJ is supposed to follow, there are monsters Steve is supposed to kill.

But there’s also a beginning that’s just barely being written.

He opens his eyes.

And Steve is right there.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter:  
[Agentcoop](twitter.com/agentcoop1)  



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